I'm Here For You
by ronarnus
Summary: What happens after Feyre fulfills her promise to Rhysand? Takes place after ACOTAR.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hi everybody! This is going to be a multi-chapter fic, provided that I update regularly. Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** All characters and places belong to Sarah J. Maas.

* * *

Chapter 1

" _Well, good-bye for now," he said, rolling his neck as if they hadn't been talking about anything important at all. He bowed at the waist, those wings vanishing entirely, and had begun to fade into the nearest shadow when he went rigid._

 _His eyes locked on hers, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock - pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on her face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled._

" _What is -" she began._

 _He disappeared - simply disappeared, not a shadow in sight - into the crisp air._

He had smelled it all over her, all of a sudden, just before he left. He had panicked and faded into the shadows, refusing to believe it.

His senses were wrong. They had to be wrong. But it wasn't the first time in his life that he didn't trust himself.

 _Mate_ , something had whispered in his ear. Something had nudged him inside while he stood stock-still, staring at her confused face, his nostrils filled with her scent. He had stumbled back, still staring at her, thoughts wildly running through his mind. _No. It couldn't be possible._ _What about Tamlin?_

And so he had fled, taking the only escape from his cowardice. Fight or flight, and he had chosen the latter.

He strode into the hall of the grand Night Court Palace, causing the attention of everyone in mid-celebration to turn to him.

"Lord Rhysand," a slurred voice. "Welcome back. We've been partying for three days in a row. Where have _you_ been?"

"Hell," he replied, and smirked.

* * *

 _He could barely let out a guttural cry as Amarantha tossed him across the room like a rag doll. He couldn't even watch Feyre, but he could hope that she wouldn't break down. But she did, blood gushing down her face, screaming, clawing at herself. He watched as Amarantha glowed in a ghastly light, slowly rising up, spreading her poison through the room and immediately killing everyone in sight with one single word. He had died for nothing; he had died on the sidelines, incapable of doing anything._

Rhysand jolted awake and took a deep breath. Nightmares frequented his dreams - it was nothing new. But this one - this one - was too close to becoming real.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed and stretched, rolling his neck. The crack satisfied him, and he headed to the kitchens for a glass of water.

After taking a long swallow, Rhysand pressed his fingers to his temples and sighed, going back to his bedroom. He unfolded his wings once back inside, taking care to not scrape them against them any sharp object. There were still some fresh tears in the membrane, but the scars from Amarantha's...previous administrations had faded.

He opened a small jar of ointment and applied it to the cuts, savoring in its coolness. Every night since Feyre had arrived Under the Mountain, every night with Amarantha had been torture.

Now she was dead. He was free.

And tomorrow, he would have to go to the Spring Court to collect.

* * *

The said Spring Court was a bit too pleasant for his taste. Flowers now covered the ground in a thick blanket - an improvement from the last time he had been there. The grass was green and the sky was blue, and he immediately missed the comforting starry darkness of his own home.

Of course Feyre liked it here. What was he going to tell her, let alone act around her, now that he had discovered that she was his mate? She was with Tamlin. She was happy with Tamlin, and he didn't want to take that happiness away from her.

Every faerie knew that it wasn't a one-sided thing. Although it didn't necessarily have to occur simultaneously, a faerie could detect who his or her mate was. It was a universal power.

He found Feyre outside, taking a walk with her beloved. There was absolutely no darkness here, and he hated it. He couldn't meld into the shadows. There were practically none.

As a result, he was spotted immediately.

The happy couple headed towards him, both walking with a graceful subtlety now that Feyre was high Fae.

Tamlin stopped in front of him. "Rhysand...what are you doing here?"

Rhysand ignored him and turned to the girl. "Your time here is up. A week at the Night Court starts now."

"As long as I know that you're safe, Tam, I'll go," Feyre assured Tamlin. "And you are. Nothing's going to happen to between us, and I made a promise. Alright?"

Rhysand could see Tamlin clenching his jaw, but he nodded. "If you dare to touch her," he growled at him, "I'll flay you alive."

"I can clearly take care of myself," Feyre said. Her eyes softened, and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss Tamlin. "I love you."

"That's enough," Rhysand said. "There's no need for such extravagant displays of affection."

It was his turn to be ignored, so he turned away, deciding to give them their space. There was no way that Feyre was his mate. Even he could see the passion and love behind the kiss, and it made his cold, stone heart clench painfully.

"Alright. I'm ready."

* * *

"Rhysand - this is amazing," Feyre whispered, gazing admiringly at the ceiling of his palace.

"I chose the color because it matched the night sky. Fitting," he replied.

"Well, It's beautiful."

"Thank you."

She broke her gaze and they walked in silence. She was still taking in her surroundings, observing the faerie servants slipping in and out of the shadows. "What am I going to do here for a week?"

"I've got plans for you," he said, the corners of his lips turning up. "First things first - I'll take you up to your room."

"Well, this is it," he said, gesturing around.

"It's pretty big," Feyre said out loud.

She took her sweet time walking around the room, running her hands over the pieces of furniture.

He cleared his throat. "You'll be present for dinner."

She rolled her eyes. "That was what Tamlin and Lucien basically told me when I was at the Spring Court for the first time."

He raised an eyebrow, and Feyre sighed.

"Obviously, I'll join you, as I have no choice."

* * *

Rhysand smelled her before he saw her. That luxurious, heady scent that floated around her whenever he was near was trouble. But he was used to trouble.

She was quite regal - dressed in a sweeping, floor-length twilight-colored gown with her hair down. As much as he didn't want to admit it, she looked - lovely.

Rhysand stood up when he caught sight of her and addressed the servants standing around. "This is Feyre, who will be living with us for a week."

He sat back down.

Feyre walked towards the magnificent table and sat down across Rhysand, accepting a glass of wine that a servant had offered her.

"I hope this isn't the same wine you gave me…" A noticeable blush stained her cheeks.

Rhysand smiled wickedly. "Oh, I missed your dancing."

She looked down at her hands in her lap.

He cleared his throat. "Let's eat."

"I'm full enough now," Feyre said. "I'm going back to my room."

"Not yet," he told her. "I have something to show you."

He led her down the twisting staircase to the enormous library, noticing Feyre's paleness. "I'm teaching you how to read."

"For God's sake -" she muttered.

"One hour, every day. Which is quite lenient, considering how much practice you've ever had in your entire life."

"And I suppose this lesson starts now."

"It does. Sit down."

Feyre managed to gracefully plop down into a nearby chair. "What are you looking for?"

"Some beginner books." He successfully located them and brought them over to her, along with a sheet of paper and a stick of graphite.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Remember that second task you were given?"

"It's not likely to happen again."

"That doesn't mean it's not a useful skill. Do you want to stay illiterate for the rest of your life?"

"Well, no, but why are _you_ teaching me?"

"Why not?"

"Rhysand, please. I know you have nothing to gain by doing this."

"Feyre...I'm giving you what you need."

"Do you know what? I don't need it. Especially from _you_ , you condescending rat. Goodbye. I'm going to sleep."

She strode out the door without another word.

She was so ungrateful, but Rhysand wasn't going to pressure her. He stayed in the library for another hour until he wearily headed back to his own room and commenced his daily ritual of healing. The wings, unfortunately, didn't heal automatically like the rest of his body did.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing Feyre. Rhysand froze.

"Sorry - sorry," she muttered. "I couldn't sleep. Also, I came to apologize -"

She was about to say more when she caught sight of the wounds on his wings.

"Rhys." Feyre forgot the door and rushed over to him. "Who did this to you?"

He was silent.

"Was it Amarantha?"

"Yes," he said quietly.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Feyre reached out and gently touched his wing. He let out an audible hiss, and she reeled back.

"Did that hurt?"

"No."

She hesitantly connected her fingertips with the ebony-black feathers gathering at the base of his wings, tracing over the faded scars, not noticing his tension. She then reached around, took the jar from him, and started applying the medicine to the cuts.

"Feyre." Her head snapped up, and he briefly searched her eyes. "You don't need to do this."

"Yes, I do. You were hurt. You are hurt. Also, I want to apologize. I was completely ungrateful and stupid. I shouldn't have taken it for granted."

He was silent. "I accept your apology."

She finished applying the medicine and patted his wings. "There, all better." Feyre laughed, bent down and kissed the tip of one wing, suddenly noticing Rhysand's sharp intake of breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi guys! I'm so sorry, I didn't update for over a week (as my internet was down). Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows - keep them coming! Also, I really want to change the title, but I have no idea where this fic is going. It's practically writing itself.**

* * *

Chapter 2

"I'm so sorry," Feyre mumbled. "I'll go now."

She backed towards the door and quickly slipped out. Rhysand sighed, tucked his wings in, and tried to sleep. What was she even apologizing for?

She came down for breakfast the next day and quietly sat down across him.

"How did you sleep?" Rhysand asked her.

Feyre kept her eyes downcast. "Very well, thanks."

They finished their meals in awkward silence, Feyre first, and went their opposite ways.

A couple hours later, Rhysand found her staring at the walls in her room.

"The ceiling is absolutely gorgeous," she whispered.

"You've said that already," he remarked. "Approximately five hundred times."

Feyre propped herself up on one elbow and turned to him.

"No, but you don't get it. I've really only seen a few things that are so - so - glorious. That mainly comprises of anything on Tamlin's estate...but this is so different. You've seen it, multiple times, no doubt. It's all sunny and pleasant over there. But it's the opposite over here."

That got his attention. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. The whole theme is dark. The night sky."

"It's called the Night Court for a reason. What did you expect?"

"I didn't expect it to be this shadowy. If only I had some paint…"

"Would you like some?"

Feyre was taken aback. "What?"

"Do you want paint?"

"Even if I attempted to paint this, I wouldn't be able to do it justice. It's just something that I can't capture on a canvas."

"You'll have nothing to do for a week -"

"Then why am I here?!" She threw a glare at him.

The corners of his mouth turned up. "To spite Tamlin."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Really! You were so concerned with 'spiting Tamlin' and not with the situation I was in two weeks ago! Was that all you cared about?"

"Of course not," he growled. "Did you think there was anything I could do? I was _Amarantha's whore_. What can whores do?"

He was suddenly aware of their proximity. Feyre, on the other hand, was oblivious; she was flushed and panting from anger.

The little voice inside Rhysand's head whispered, _"Mate."_

"I tried, Feyre. I tried to do something to help, to step away from the sidelines. Some things take time, you know."

Her scent flooded his nostrils and he suddenly felt light-headed. Giddy, almost.

He stood up. Not a good idea. His wings shot out to balance his body.

"Are you okay?"

Strangely enough, she looked worried. Why was she worried? She didn't care about him. She wasn't supposed to -

"I'm fine."

He strode out of the room, but he didn't see Feyre sitting on the bed with her hands covering her face, more dejected than angry.

* * *

Rhysand was about to head to the library when he felt something tugging on the bond.

The bond. He had never forgotten about that; how could he escape it? Every second of every day, he could feel what she felt. Her happiness, her fear, her sadness and isolation.

But this time, it was telling him something different.

This time, it was telling him danger.

He followed it, like an invisible string that could break at one mishandling. The bond was extremely fragile, but this was necessary.

Rhysand knew that Feyre could do well on her own. But her transition from human to High Fae...she was practically a fledgling. She wasn't accustomed to her new abilities yet. It took decades, even centuries, for a High Fae to master one aspect of his or her body.

He reached the end of the string when he approached a small clearing in the woods outside his estate.

A faerie in a hood was bending over Feyre, snarling and attempting to pin her down. The bond went taut, and Rhysand rushed over.

The faerie in the hood looked up, seeming to sense the sudden darkness that spread from above. Or perhaps he saw the black wings out of the corner of his eye. Either way, the attacker stopped, and Feyre took her chance. She shoved the faerie off of her and headed for the bow and arrow lying a few yards away. Before she had a chance to retaliate, however, the hooded figure disappeared.

She whirled around and glared at Rhysand.

"You scared him off. I had it under control!"

"Really?" He cocked a perfect eyebrow. "Why didn't you just punch him when he tried to get away?"

"I'm not good with hand-to-hand combat," Feyre mumbled. "He disarmed me. I was strolling around in the area and the guy was in the trees."

"Are you hurt?" He touched her arm.

Feyre looked down at where they touched. "No - no, I'm fine."

He let go of her.

"Did you see the face under the hood?" Rhysand asked her.

"I didn't see the face, but he had the Night Court tattoo on his hand. The swirly thing you gave me when you healed my arm."

"He was a part of my court?" Rhysand bit out. "He knows that you and I are allies. I've introduced you to basically everyone on the estate in the span of two days."

"So we have a traitor on our hands."

He studied her for a moment. Dark brown hair bundled into a thick braid was swung over one shoulder. Her gaze was hardened and her eyes were cold. She was only nineteen in human years, and barely one in faerie years, but she had already seen too much. Feyre's decision to save Tamlin had almost cost her her life. She had seen the cruelty of Amarantha, the corruption that she had almost successfully spread over the whole realm.

So there was a traitor in their midst. What was a traitor to someone who had already seen worse?

"Walk with me," Rhysand hissed. He grabbed her arm and started walking towards the house.

"Don't go after this faerie," he said. "He's obviously dangerous and it's not worth your life."

"Since when did you care so much about my life?"

"Tamlin -"

"Tamlin." Feyre grasped his arm. "If you tell him, I'll - I'll skin you alive." She seemed to just remember about her _beloved_.

Rhysand snorted. "Don't waste your breath. I won't tell him."

"I wonder why it was me, though," Feyre said out loud. She rubbed her arm absently, running her fingers over the already half-formed scab.

"Whoever he is, he's dangerous," Rhysand repeated. "You're not that used to your body yet."

"Well, I can't just stand there and wait for someone to rescue me, can I?!"

"No." Rhysand smiled. "Which is why I'm going to teach you to fight."

* * *

"I don't know whether I should be thanking you or smacking you in the face for this," Feyre huffed as they ran towards the training grounds

"Why would this be bad?" Rhysand's voice was still sleek as usual, carrying with it the deep caress that lay underneath. No sign of fatigue was visible.

"It's not. It's just that I'm worried whether or not you're being a condescending little -"  
"I'm training you. How am I being condescending?"

"For one thing, you're showing off."

He had taken off his shirt and was basking in his half-naked glory. Feyre had to admit, though, he was built like a god.

"Tamlin's not going to be happy if he ever heard I saw you like this," Feyre said, eyes still glued to his body.

"Feyre." He smirked.

"What?" She finally looked up at him.

"Don't worry about what Tamlin thinks."

"But -"

"Does he trust you?"

"She blinked. "Uh, well, yes. Obviously. I risked my life to go and save his ass. I could have died."

"Exactly. So don't destroy that trust," he said simply, and resumed jogging.

He could tell that Feyre was a fighter - not that he'd ever doubted it, of course. He had seen what she was capable of.

Her thing wasn't hunting, nonetheless killing. It wasn't her knack for archery of the amount of power she could pack into a punch.

It was survival.

That was how she had lived for her first nineteen years as a human. She had such a strong will to live that she beat death itself. When Feyre was starving in that little hovel she called a home, she went out and hunted. She didn't sit there and be pitiful like her two sisters and father, at least from what Rhysand had heard around. She didn't sit around and wallow in a puddle of misery. She took action when it was necessary. And Rhysand admired her for that.

When Feyre was in that cell under the Mountain, how lonely and desperate did she feel at times? She was pushed to the limit, but she didn't give up. She held her head high and walked through it like she owed the world nothing.

* * *

She could still improve with her bow, even though she was already quite proficient. He didn't have to touch her hand to know that there were old callouses that formed on her fingers as a result of over ten years of archery.

He wasn't thinking about touching her hand.

After making sure that his student was able to shoot a tennis ball in midair at a range of thirty yards, Rhysand decided to teach Feyre better hand-to-hand combat skills.

"Hit me," he told her, offering his vulnerability.

"Uh, no."

"Hit me," he repeated, softer this time.

Feyre cocked her head to one side and reconsidered.

Suddenly, her fist shot out and and would almost have landed squarely on Rhysand's stomach, had he not caught it just in time.

Feyre glared at him. "You're not playing fair."

"You thought life was fair? Hit me again."

She didn't hit him this time. She grabbed his arms and butted their heads together, then tackled him full-on.

They landed on the ground together, Feyre on top, straddling him. Their eyes locked.

Rhysand's heartbeat sped up. Just a fraction of a second, and -

Feyre stood up awkwardly.

She wiped the dust from her hands and gave him an awkward grin.  
Rhysand rose and smirked. "Round two."

"Come on. We're not done? I'm exhausted."

She had worked herself up into a sweat. Rhysand, on the other hand, was barely panting.

"No."

"Are you kidding me? We've been training for three hours -"

"Two and a half."

"Whatever. Don't you think that you might be, you know, overworking me?"

"Feyre. The whole point of this is to teach you how to use your faerie body."

"That kind of thing takes time."

"Don't you want it to speed up, then" And learn how to defend yourself?

"That would be a bonus."

Rhysand sighed. "Indeed, it would be."

He carefully slid the sword back into the scabbard and placed it on the rack full of weapons.

"We're doing more tomorrow."

Feyre rolled her eyes. "Sure. Wish me luck."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They resumed Feyre's reading lessons in the library. She had reluctantly admitted that it would be helpful, and Rhysand was relieved. After all, what Feyre had gone through during Amarantha's trials...he was sure that she didn't want to make the same mistake again.

At dusk, he brought her to the library and drew up a chair.

"Don't leave."

Feyre slowly turned around. "What?"

He cleared his throat. "If you want to learn how to read, you better not leave."

Rhysand could already sense the dangerous glint forming in her eye. He had come to learn that she had a large amount of pride. It was only natural, of course. It was only a question of whether it would be a vice or a virtue.

"I'm not going to leave."

"You should be thanking me," Rhysand said, stepping closer to her. The darkness that surrounded him grew even darker, if that was even possible.

Feyre lifted her chin and refused to answer.

"If I hadn't...helped you that day, you would have been ruined. Everything would have been ruined."

"We're talking about different things here." She somehow managed to keep her calm even though Rhysand was a few inches away from her.

"Really?" he said, moving even closer, forcing her to look up.

"Yes."

Silence.

"Sit." Rhysand stepped away, and Feyre let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding in.  
She had won that argument. Was it an argument? She couldn't even remember anymore.

Feyre sat down in the chair he had pulled out. "What's for today?"

He glided to the chair across from hers. "The alphabet."

"I...know the alphabet."

He quirked an eyebrow. Why did he always do that?

"Alright, then."

She could tell that it was going to be a long day.

* * *

Feyre flopped down onto her bed and gazed up at the ceiling.

Rhysand was right, she grudgingly thought. If it hadn't been for him...well, she didn't know what would have happened.

Their first official reading lesson had gone surprisingly well. She had managed to communicate with Rhysand without angrily launching herself at his gorgeous face - no, not gorgeous. He was one of the most condescending, arrogant fae she had ever known. Feyre was in love with Tamlin. _Tamlin._ She couldn't possibly be thinking about Rhysand now, unless -

Unless -

She suddenly remembered the time when he disappeared before her very eyes. It all came rushing back to her - flashback style. He had melded into the shadows, almost, after he had looked at her in shock. Why was he so surprised? Had he sensed something about her that was off? It was a very curious moment, and a wave of burning urgency overcame Feyre. She had to know what was going on.

But she didn't want to ruin their friendship with one single question.

Friendship. She didn't want to call it that, but they certainly weren't enemies, and they certainly weren't acquaintances. Rhys had done so much more for her than she had ever realized, or shown gratefulness for.

Feyre was guilty, and she had to make that right.

She slipped off the bed and padded over to door, still moving with a hunter's grace. She was going to find Rhysand and thank him, and then, maybe, if she had the chance, ask him about that one moment.

Except she didn't get that far.

A hooded figure slammed into her immediately after she stepped out of the room, knocking her sideways and onto the floor. In a heartbeat, the assailant's hands were around Feyre's throat, squeezing the air out of her.

 _What the_ -?

It had literally been only one day, and she was being attacked again.

She inwardly groaned. This could even have been funny, were it not for the fact that she was currently going to be killed.

"Who - are - you?" she choked out, struggling to rip the hands off her throat. Unfortunately, they held. She was losing air, fast.

The fae did not answer. So Feyre did the only thing she could think of.

She slammed her head upwards with the remaining strength she had, and took the fae by complete surprise. She threw a fist at her attacker's face, remembering the moves that Rhysand had recently taught her. _Thank you for those three hours._

She bent down to avoid the Fae's swing at her head and to grab his legs, swinging him over and onto the ground.

She now had the upper hand. _Let's give you a taste of your own medicine, shall we?_ She straddled the figure and placed one hand on his throat.

Feyre grabbed the fae's hood, pulled it down, and stopped.

It was a beautiful girl. Beautiful was not the word to describe her, actually. She was regal, but had a darkness surrounding her, just like Rhysand. Night Court. Of course. This girl was obviously a High Fae, with delicate but beautiful features: honey-blonde hair and green eyes.

Why did she ever think that her attacker would be, well, male?

The girl smirked at her. She brought her head close to Feyre's, lowering her voice to a whisper, as if she wasn't being choked at all. "Who am _I_? My name is Kynyssaria."

"Why are you here?"

"I was under orders to attack you," Kynyssaria replied. "I just had to find a suitable time. Now."

She lunged upwards, wriggling out of Feyre's grasp, and whipped out a knife, pushing her against the wall and holding the knife against her throat.

"Tell Rhysand that I was here," Kynyssaria whispered into her ear. "He's going to explain everything." She delicately traced the knife point over Feyre's cheek, suddenly digging it into the flesh and allowing a thin trickle of blood to flow out. "I'll be back."

With that, the girl and the knife were gone.

Feyre snapped back to reality and touched her cheek in a daze. Her fingers came back wet with blood.

So it wasn't a dream.

 _Hell_ yes, she was going to tell Rhysand. She was going to put off that thank you and demand some answers.

* * *

At supper, Feyre blurted out, "Who's Kynyssaria?"

Rhysand froze. "What did you say?"

Feyre could see his pale skin turning milk-white, face frozen in fear.

"Kynyssaria," she repeated. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He said nothing.

"We all have secrets, Feyre," Rhysand slowly said. "You don't want to hear this one."

She studied him. Rhysand's face was perfect, as usual, but there were several faint lines on his smooth forehead that she had never noticed before. When did they first appear? His movements still had a fluid grace that she could never hope to capture herself.

He was tired. Even though he was handsome as ever, the centuries were beginning to take their toll on him.

"Believe me, I do." Feyre turned her face to him to slip a spoon of fragrant rice into her mouth. It was a mistake.

"Who did that to you?"

"Did what?" She quickly turned her face away, then dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Through the bond, she could feel his concern.

"That cut looks fresh," he said, getting up from his chair and approaching Feyre. Rhysand gently turned her cheek to the light and examined the wound. "Definitely fresh."

"How did you know?" Her voice was flat.

"I've had my fair share of injuries, Feyre. High Fae heal fast, but there is a limit. Let it heal by itself, and –"

"She did this," Feyre whispered. "Tell me the truth, Rhys."

She could feel the flutter in her stomach when she said his nickname. "You can trust me."

Rhysand gave a bitter laugh. "Can I?"

He stood up and left the room.

* * *

Something led Feyre to the small clearing on the estate where she was first attacked. A tugging inside her mind…a string that she had to follow.

She sat down on the grass and waited.

"Ah, Feyre," a female voice seemed to whisper in her ear, although no one was there. "He didn't tell you, did he?"

Feyre was silent, still waiting.

"Well, let me tell you something. I was his lover for a decade before the whole Amarantha business," the voice hissed.

That jolted Feyre. Lover? Rhysand had a lover? Kynyssaria was –?

 _Oh, God._

"I was only sleeping with him to gain information for my true allegiance: Amarantha, my queen. Oh, how stupid my dear Rhys was."

The voice surrounded Feyre on all sides. A shudder ran through her, anger slowly bubbling beneath the surface.

 _Dear Rhys?_ What a bi-

"I reported back to her for a while, until you arrived. You. The weak little human girl who called herself a _huntress_." Feyre heard a scoff.

"You came back to save your beloved, Tamlin, who was, by the way, a complete brat. But Amarantha was not stupid. She could see the way Rhysand looked at you. He was helping you, and for what in return? Nothing."

Feyre felt as if she had to reply, and she did. "Rhysand didn't look at me in any way."

"Absolutely disgusting," the voice sighed. "Your mortal stupidity, combined with your regular ignorance, made you blind."

"What are you, a poet?"

"No. Just an assassin," the voice snarled, becoming lower in pitch.

Feyre stood up. "Well, call yourself lucky. You've met your match."

 _Lie_. And both of them knew it. She wasn't even formally trained.

Feyre found herself thanking no one for remembering to bring her bow and arrows.

She ducked just in time to avoid the swing of the blade as it materialized right above her. Throwing a punch wasn't going to help this time. She notched an arrow and aimed it towards – well, nothing. She didn't even know where Kynyssaria was, let alone shoot her.

A morningstar whistled by, managing to knock the bow out of her hands. Another one nailed her sleeve to a tree trunk.

 _Shit._

Feyre ripped the weapon out of the fabric, dropped to the ground, and rolled. This time, an arrow grazed her arm.

She had never hunted targets that were a match for her; usually it was rabbits, fowl, occasionally deer. She was fighting a losing battle. She was going to die.

That was until she heard the rustle of wings. Very wide, very large, very dark wings. These wings were attached to Rhysand, who had his talons extended, aiming for the treetops above her.

A moment later, Kynyssaria dropped to the ground, Rhysand following a second later. The only difference was that she was unconscious and Rhysand was breathing.

He held her body in his arms, his wings still unfolded.  
Feyre was definitely intruding on a tender moment.

"She said you were lovers. She betrayed you."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't," he admitted, finally standing up, tearing his gaze from Kynyssaria to Feyre. "Get to the mansion. I had to…knock her out. I'm bringing her to the infirmary. I promise you, Feyre, I will tell you everything. So will she."

* * *

 **A/N** : Guys, I am a piece of trash. I didn't update in two weeks, and I am so, so, so sorry. Thank you for all of your support, though. Please leave a review, if you can (and accept my apologies)!


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